I want to get to a point in my life where, a la Jay-Z, I can say “What’s fifty grand to a motherfucker like me? Can you please remind me?” Think about it. What does it mean to be so rich that you drop $50,000 without even thinking about the impact it could have on your life. Kanye (in his medicated era) goes on to say, “What’s Gucci, my nigga? What’s Louis, my killer? What’s drugs, my dealer? What’s that jacket, Margiela?” That last bit is a Haute Coutre fashion house in Paris that makes $800 pants. I’m not even getting into Jacket prices here. All I am saying is that there is a ridiculous disparity in wealth between those at the bottom and even those in the upper part (not even the TOP) of the ladder. Heck, I’m not poor. I’m educated and make a decent bit of money, but what’s 50 grand to a motherfucker like me? Still life changing. I cannot begin to explain how much that sort of money would impact my life on a permanent basis.
In sum: Jay-Z does in fact ball so hard. Kanye does too. This is all coming from a writer who is spending the summer in Canada because, well, I can. Still I ball little to none in comparison, and that is what it all comes down to in American life isn’t it? Comparisons. We compare ourselves and our lives and our choices to everyone around us, and the favorable comparisons are supposed to make us happy. We measure ourselves by who we support and if who we support is cool or good, we are somehow elevated by our support thereof. Ask any fan of a winning team how they feel being a fan of that team and they will tell you they feel like champs (despite having never played a moment for the team). Ask any fan of a perenially losing team (read: Knicks. Also see: Mets post 1986) and they will tell you they feel like a part of something about to be wonderful. Or they feel like there is companionship in that misery as shown below:
So, yeah. This is how the world works in my mind. I’ll see you tomorrow.